


Deep, Invisible Tracks

by andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, No Tilde, Post-Kingsman: The Golden Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknight1512/pseuds/andthenshesaid-write
Summary: When the alpha gel backfires, Harry begins to lose his memory and Eggsy is left trying to hold their life and Kingsman together. He dedicates his time to finding a way to bring Harry’s memories back because Eggsy’s never given up on Harry before and he’s not about to start now.





	Deep, Invisible Tracks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TansyC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TansyC/gifts).



> This fic is a Christmas gift for my good friend, TansyC. It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I’m so proud of it and I hope you love it as much as I do.
> 
> Eternal thanks and all the love to my bff, N, for agreeing to beta this fic and for letting me talk through all the things with her. She did an amazing edit for me. Any remaining errors are completely my own.
> 
> The title is from a quote from Christopher Isherwood’s _A Single Man_.
>
>> “Think of two people, living together day after day, year after year, in this small space, standing elbow to elbow cooking at the same small stove, squeezing past each other on the narrow stairs, shaving in front of the same small bathroom mirror, constantly jogging, jostling, bumping against each other’s bodies by mistake or on purpose, sensually, aggressively, awkwardly, impatiently, in rage or in love – think what **deep though invisible tracks** they must leave, everywhere, behind them!”

What no one told them until later, was that the alpha gel was a relatively new piece of technology. Ginger – _Agent Whiskey_ , Eggsy had to remind himself – explained that they developed it only a few years back when the previous Whiskey was going through a particularly daring phase. They had figured, rightly, that they might one day need to have some means of repairing a head wound. The problem was that Harry was the longest surviving recipient of the gel; no one had realised there were going to be consequences.

At first, there were no obvious signs that anything was wrong. Harry got migraines sometimes, and headaches more frequently, but those were expected side effects of being shot in the head and losing an eye. Small bouts of memory loss also occurred, but they were short term and were usually limited to things like Harry forgetting that he’d already made himself a cup of tea or cleaned his gun. From there, it was a steady decline.

*****

Eggsy gets home from work and all the lights are off. He eases the front door closed and the click it makes is too loud in the silence. He waits, but there’s not even the patter of Hamish’s paws on the floorboards to greet him.

Harry doesn’t usually leave the house anymore, not without a great deal of coaxing, so he must be here somewhere. He’s capable of defending himself, because there are some things a person never forgets, but he’s lost any skill he developed in learning how to work around his lack of depth perception.

Eggsy sets the Rainmaker in the stand beside the door and reaches for his gun. The grip is a comfort in a world that’s been turned on its head.

He does a sweep of the ground floor, finds it empty but hastily abandoned. There are the remnants of dinner preparation on the kitchen counters – pork chops left out to sweat, a bowl of peas, a handful of carrots.

He creeps upstairs, automatically skipping over the steps that creak, checks the master bedroom and the guest room that Daisy used to stay in before things got too bad for her to be around overnight. Finally, he comes to the closed door of the office. He turns the doorknob gently and the door swings open on silent hinges.

There’s a small snuffle and Hamish wriggles out from behind the desk. His tail wags as he runs over to Eggsy and then sits at his feet. That tells Eggsy everything he needs to know and he slips the gun back into its holster.

“Harry?” His voice calm and light, like he was instructed, and steps further into the room. He treads more heavily than he would normally so Harry knows where he is until he rounds the side of the desk and peers down at him, seated on the floor, gun in hand. It’s not loaded; it’s not even functional. Eggsy had asked the tech team to modify a weapon for Harry when they realised they couldn’t let him near anything that could cause any serious damage. “Whatcha doin’?”

Harry motions him down and Eggsy crouches beside him, resting his elbows on his knees.

“They’re coming,” Harry whispers.

“Who’s coming?”

“McRae, and he’ll have his cronies as back up, I’m sure. He always was a coward. If we just stay here, we’ll have the strategic advantage.”

Eggsy nods seriously even though he knows McRae hasn’t been seen since Harry took him out in the late 80s. “Okay, well, I’ve checked the house and there’s no one here. Everything’s locked and the exterior sensors are on so we’ll have plenty of warning. I’ll check in with Merlin, too; he’ll let us know if McRae’s on the move.”

“Do it now.”

There’s a steeliness in his voice that says he won’t be persuaded until Eggsy can reassure him, so Eggsy taps his glasses to activate the audio and a soft, female voice rings in his ear.

“Alright, Eggsy?” Helene says. “Thought you’d be home by now.”

“I am. I’m just checking in. Harry wants to know if McRae’s anywhere nearby.”

Helene sighs. “He’s bad today?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Eggsy. I promise I’m working on it but we’re still stretched so thin.”

“Okay. Thanks, Merlin. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She wishes him a goodnight and Eggsy deactivates the glasses. Harry’s eye is fixed on his face, trying to read him. He’s not wearing the eyepatch today – probably forgot he needs it.

“Merlin says there’s been no movement, but I’ll check again when I go in tomorrow. He’ll let us know if anything changes before then. Let’s get started on dinner for now, though, yeah? I’m starvin’.”

It’s enough to get Harry on his feet. Even on the worst days, he seems to instinctively know that he can trust Eggsy. And in those moments of doubt, all Eggsy has to do is invoke Merlin’s name. Doesn’t matter that the Merlin on the other end of the line isn’t the Merlin that Harry knows, Harry never speaks to or sees her anyway.

Eggsy ushers Harry down the stairs and into the kitchen with Hamish scampering around their feet. He doesn’t know how long the pork has been sitting out, so he sighs as he throws the chops in the bin and calls for Chinese while Harry puts the vegetables back in the fridge.

When the food arrives, they eat at the dining table, on proper plates with proper cutlery and Eggsy tells Harry about his day – as much of it as he can anyway – and Harry does the same. It was hard, at first, to listen to Harry tell his stories as if they had happened just that morning instead of thirty years ago. Eggsy had argued and pulled out evidence trying to convince him until he recognised the distrust and distress gathering in Harry’s eyes. Now, he just listens and asks gentle questions to steer the conversation elsewhere.

They wash and dry the dishes side-by-side and then retire to the living room. Eggsy puts on the TV to watch whatever mindless reality program he lands on first and Harry picks up his book from the side table – that’s one good thing about this whole mess: he doesn’t remember reading most of his books, so he gets to read them again.

They sit there for an hour and then Harry starts trying to stifle his yawns. Eggsy clicks off the TV, pushes himself to his feet and says, “Up to bed, then.”

They still share a bed. Eggsy had moved into the guest room when Harry’s memory started going, because he didn’t want Harry to freak out and he didn’t want to be smothered by a pillow when Harry freaked out. But Harry – _real_ Harry, _Eggsy’s_ Harry – seems to be closer to the surface at the end of the day and first thing in the morning. He’s aware of his surroundings and his past and Eggsy. So Eggsy had moved back into the master bedroom and tried not to count down the minutes before Harry’s eyes shuttered again.

*****

Helene meets him when he steps off the bullet train a few mornings later and falls in beside him as he enters the compound.

“Galahad,” she says, “we need to talk about your position. You’ve put it off long enough.”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about. My position is just fine.”

Her sigh says that she’s at the end of her tether. “We need an Arthur.”

“We _have_ an Arthur.”

“We need an Arthur who remembers that he’s Arthur.”

He stops and turns on his heel to face her. “And you think I’m the solution? You do remember that I’m still new to this, right?”

“Not _that_ new. You’re the most senior agent we’ve got. We’ve got by well enough so far, but now that all the other positions have been filled we need a long-term solution. There’s no guarantee when, or even if, Harry will get his memories back.”

Eggsy lets out a ragged breath and rubs one of his eyes behind his glasses. “He remembered not to call Hamish ‘Mr Pickle’ this morning.”

Her face softens. “I know this is hard. You have a loyalty to Harry that can never be overridden. But you also have a duty to this organisation and Eggsy, Kingsman needs you.”

The worst part is that he knows she’s right. The junior agents already look to him for guidance; some of them have never even met Harry. They need a leader.

“I’m not qualified for this.” His shoulders already feel heavier.

To her credit, Helene remains stoic and doesn’t smile. “You’ll find your feet in time but, until then, I’ll advise and help you in whatever way I can.”

Slowly, he nods. “Thank you, Merlin.”

*****

Arthur’s desk looks a lot bigger when it’s Eggsy sitting behind it. He smooths a hand across the blotter and tries not to feel like a kid who’s put on his dad’s tie to play pretend.

He has an old-fashioned chair that suits the majesty of the room, but probably isn’t great for his back; a state-of-the-art computer with more passwords than he’ll ever be able to remember; a bunch of fancy pens like those ones you gift to people for fiftieth birthdays; and an administrative assistant who brings him a cup of coffee every morning, which he sips while she runs through everything on his schedule for the day.

He spends his days familiarising himself with the work the agents are doing, chairs meetings, sits in on briefs and debriefs, signs budgets, and liaises with the heads of other organisations.

It’s the standard, day-in-day-out routine of a life he never even hoped for, let alone expected to have thrust upon him at the ripe old age of 29. He’s good at it, though, to the surprise of no one except himself. He’s good at seeing patterns and has a memory for details; he’s approachable enough that the junior agents feel they can speak to him, but has enough successful jobs under his belt that they respect him despite his age.

It doesn’t send the adrenaline coursing through his veins like field work does, but it’s satisfying in its own way.

The little free time he has, Eggsy dedicates to tech research. They have a team for that – yes, he remembers, _thank you_ , Merlin – but he has a personal interest.

There are devices being developed by civilians to help people with dementia and Alzheimer’s with their memory loss. He sends every article and development paper he finds directly to Merlin, and spends more than a few lunch breaks down with the development team. At first they’re prickly about having him in their space, peering over their shoulders, but they get used to him (and if he helps smooth the way with delicious baked goods, well, the end justifies the means).

Harry’s going through a period of more good days than bad, so one evening they take Hamish for a walk together. Hamish trots happily in front of them, occasionally stopping to sniff around the base of a lamppost, and Harry and Eggsy amble along behind.

“They’ve promoted you to Arthur,” Harry says, out of the blue, while he tugs Hamish around a puddle.

Eggsy’s mouth goes dry. “It’s only temporary.”

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s for the best.”

“It’s _your_ job.”

“I’m not exactly fit for it, am I? A ship like Kingsman won’t steer itself. They’re lucky to have you at the helm.”

“You might be, though, one day. Fit for it, I mean. If we can get those synapses firing the way they should. Merlin says–”

“It doesn’t matter, Eggsy. I’m getting too old for it all anyway.”

“You ain’t nowhere near as old as Chester was.”

“No, and look what happened to him.” Harry arches a brow and Eggsy shrugs.

“Shouldn’t’ve turned you over to Valentine then, should he?”

They round a corner and their neat little house comes into view. Eggsy chews his lip, even as he digs in his pocket for the keys.

“You sayin’ you wouldn’t want your memories back and workin’ right if you could have ‘em?”

Harry hesitates, a moment so small Eggsy almost misses it as they climb the front steps. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying I don’t want my memories back just so I can be Arthur again. It’s good for the organisation to have someone young and fresh in charge as it rebuilds, and I have other things to be getting on with anyway.”

*****

Harry wakes up the next morning and thinks it’s 1983.

There are weeks upon weeks of bad days.

*****

It’s a rainy Wednesday at the start of April when Merlin buzzes him via his glasses. Eggsy’s spent all morning discussing and overhauling protocols for Kingsmen who find themselves in the Middle East, so he’s happy to be distracted.

He’s stopped being surprised when he pushes open Merlin’s door and sees watercolour landscapes instead of tartan. At first the obvious lack of the Merlin he knew was like a punch to the gut every time but now it’s receded to the occasional dull ache.

“What can I do for you, Merlin?” he says and waits for her to gesture at a chair before he sits. He lowers himself warily, though, because there’s a suspicious light in her eyes.

“We’ve done it.” She’s obviously trying to keep a straight face but a smile is tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Eggsy frowns and automatically brings up a mental list of all the missions she has a hand in. “Done what?”

“We’ve developed a memory recovery device.”

He slides to the edge of his chair. “What? It actually works? How?”

“It’s a small device to be implanted in the brain. It has an enclosed electrical current that can bridge damaged synapses and help the person reach the memories they’re trying to retrieve, whether consciously or not.”

Eggsy’s feeling vaguely light-headed. It’s been over a year since Merlin started looking into this and now, finally, the day is here. The device exists. Harry can have his memories back. They can talk about missions more recent than those from 1995. They can revisit places without Eggsy having to explain what happened the last time they were there. They can even have their bloody in-jokes back.

Merlin clears her throat and the grin spreading across Eggsy’s face stops. There’s a catch. There has to be. There always is.

She spreads her hands wide. “Obviously we haven’t been able to test it on a human subject. It works in theory. The science is sound. But there’s no guarantee it will work as intended in practice.”

He tilts his head. “Go on. I know there’s more.”

She sighs. “It would be an incredibly delicate procedure to implant the device. Add that to the significant damage Harry’s brain received when he was injured and, well…”

“What? You’re sayin’ he could end up a vegetable?”

“We wouldn’t put it quite like that.” She grimaces. “There is a chance that he could end up with more serious brain damage.”

The silence around them is heavy.

“But there’s also a chance that everything might go exactly right and we’ll have our old Harry Hart back?”

“Yes, but there is still the risk.” She eyes him for a long moment. “What are you going to do?”

His eyes widen. “Me?”

“You do have power of attorney.”

“Oh, right.” It’s not something he thinks about much, and it’s a relatively recent development anyway, one he’d fought against. He’d only given in when Harry insisted that one day decisions might need to be made, and that Eggsy was the only person he trusted to make them. It doesn’t feel right to make this decision without Harry, though.

Merlin is still watching him, hands folded on the desk in front of her. Eggsy swears she blinks less than the average person.

“I need to talk to Harry about it,” he says. “He’s been pretty good lately and it’s his brain. It should be his decision.”

*****

There’s a small wrought-iron table in their backyard, with two matching chairs. That’s where Eggsy finds Harry when he gets home that day. It’s only mid-afternoon; he had decided to cut out early.

Harry’s humming absentmindedly, some Beatles song that Eggsy can’t remember the name of, and adding colour to a sketch he’s done of their vegetable garden. Hamish, dozing by his feet, opens a lazy eyelid that droops closed again when he sees that it’s just Eggsy.

“The weather’s lovely today, isn’t it?” Harry says, when Eggsy drops into the chair opposite him.

Eggsy casts a glance up at the heavy grey sky, but nods anyway. “Yes, Harry.”

“You know, I think I might try planting cauliflower. It’s the right time of year for them. We can eat them over the summer.”

Eggsy sighs. “Harry…I hate cauliflower.”

Harry looks up. His mouth is soft and his eye gentle, as if he’s never seen anything harsher than a fly being crushed by a swat. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve told you before.”

“Oh.” His gaze drops back to the sketchbook in front of him and his fingers tighten on his pencil. “I apologise.”

Eggsy reaches out and brushes his fingertips across the back of Harry’s hand. “It’s alright. ‘S’not your fault.”

“Do you like peas?”

Eggsy huffs a laugh. “Love ‘em. They’re my favourite.”

Harry beams. “I’ll plant peas, then.”

“Okay.”

Eggsy watches while Harry goes back to his sketch; his drawing has always been good but it’s really improved since he had to leave Kingsman.

He knows he’s trying to distract himself. He needs to tell Harry about the device; it’s why he left work early. He literally couldn’t sit at his desk and pretend nothing had changed. He should tell him now. He’s got the perfect opening, and it’ll be in the forefront of his mind until he does. But he has no idea what Harry will say. None. Throwing himself off a cliff never felt as fraught as this.

He clears his throat, and then clears it again.

“Are you thirsty?” Harry says. “We’ve got some lemonade in the fridge. I made it earlier.”

Of course he did. Eggsy doesn’t need a mirror to know his mouth has dropped into that embarrassingly fond smile he gets when Harry does something particularly sweet. He urges Harry back into his seat when he makes to stand.

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I just need to talk to you about something.”

“It sounds important.”

Eggsy nods. “It is.” He takes a moment to consider his words. “Do you remember when we talked about developing a device that would help you get your memories back?”

“Vaguely.”

“Merlin did it. It’s an implant for your brain. But it’s dangerous. It might give you your memories back, or it might make the damage worse.”

Harry frowns. “Surely it’s worth the risk? I can’t even remember what vegetables you like. Imagine all the things I could remember if the device works.”

Eggsy doesn’t have to imagine; he knows full well all the good and bad things that could come flooding back.

“ _Is_ it worth the risk? Didn’t you hear what I said about it getting worse? What happens if you end up in a coma? Or brain dead?”

“Is that any worse than what I have now? We wake up in the morning and neither of us know what will be in my head.”

“Of course it would be worse! I’d rather have you here and planting vegetables I hate than not have you at all!”

“It’s not about vegetables.” Harry’s voice is hard, his anger rising even though he hasn’t raised his voice. “What happens if one day you come home and I don’t remember you?”

“You took precautions to stop that happening. You wrote down everything about me in that journal when things started getting bad. That’s why you read it every morning, so you don’t forget me.”

“And what happens if I forget to read the journal?”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry!” Eggsy pushes his hands through his hair and then drops his face into his hands, elbows propped on the table. There are tears stinging behind his eyes.

“I thought this was what you wanted.” Harry’s voice is gentle now.

Eggsy sniffs. Some days he doesn’t feel old enough to deal with any of this. “I didn’t know the stakes would be so high.”

Harry sighs. “I understand your concern, but I need to think about it. Can I do that?”

Eggsy raises his head to look Harry in the eye before nodding. “Of course. And if you decide that you want to do it, then I won’t stop you.”

*****

They don’t talk about it again. Eggsy spends the next four days tiptoeing around, waiting for Harry to bring it up and tell him he’s decided to have his brain sliced open, to risk everything they have left on what might not even be a 50/50 chance.

But the conversation doesn’t happen. Eggsy has a guilty day thinking that maybe Harry has forgotten, until he uncovers a neatly penned note in Harry’s beside drawer that just says, “Memory device exists.”

When four weeks pass without Harry saying anything about it, Eggsy breathes a sigh of relief, mentally shelves the whole idea, and moves on with his life.

*****

Eggsy is just ending a meeting with Lamorak when his phone rings. It’s his personal phone and the vibration echoes against the hardwood of his desk. Harry’s name and face fill the screen so Eggsy dismisses Lamorak with a nod and picks up the call.

Leaning back in his chair, he says, “Alright, Harry? What’re you feelin’ for tea? I could go for a curry.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a small, sharp sound, like gravel skittering across concrete.

Eggsy sits up, heart in his throat, his stomach vaguely faint. “Harry? Harry!”

Another beat of silence, in which Eggsy fumbles with his glasses trying to get Merlin on the line, and then, “They’re not here.”

Eggsy freezes. “Who?”

“McRae. His gang. They’re not here. Nothing is here. It’s all gone.”

His voice is quiet and lost. It reminds Eggsy of that time he doesn’t like to think about, when Harry was being held in that padded cell, as if he was crazy, as if he would hurt someone.

Later, Eggsy will let himself think about how Harry left the house and trekked across London to an abandoned factory to take down a gang that hasn’t existed in 30 years. For now, he just nods as if Harry can see him.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know if he’s apologising because that factory got demolished 15 years ago or because Harry can’t remember it happening.

Harry breathes a small sigh down the phone. It’s not shuddery or teary, just soft and resigned. “I– I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to do with myself.”

Eggsy takes a deep breath for both of them. “Just stay where you are and I’ll meet you there. Soon. I promise. Don’t move, okay?”

*****

The old factory is just a slab of concrete now, with browning weeds peeking through the cracks. Harry has perched himself on the edge of a rusted oil drum, the spare Rainmaker propped beside him. He’s as perfectly put together as the day he busted Eggsy out of that police station, but his shoulders are rounded and his hands rest listlessly in his lap. Eggsy approaches slowly and then stops a foot away from him.

At first, neither of them speaks and then Harry looks up and says, “I’m not crazy.”

Eggsy feels the bottom drop out of his stomach and the words trip over themselves to get to his tongue. “Of course you’re not crazy.”

“Most of the time I think I’m living in the past.”

“That don’t make you any more crazy than me. I know that. Merlin knows it, too.”

“Merlin is dead.”

Eggsy inhales so sharply it hurts. “You remember.”

“Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But here, now, yes.” He stares at the emptiness around them and glances up at the clouds gathering over the city. “It’s strange. Most days I potter around the house without a care in the world and then, out of nowhere, I remember, and it feels like losing him all over again.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

But it’s like Harry doesn’t hear him. “And then there’s the rest of it. Do you know what it’s like to look in a mirror and not recognise yourself? I’ll know it must be me, but there are lines where my memory says there shouldn’t be, and a scar where I should have an eye.”

Eggsy doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? Everything that crosses his mind seems too trivial for everything Harry has just said.

Of course, Harry doesn’t need him to say anything.

“I’ve decided to do it.”

Eggsy frowns. “Do what?”

“Have the procedure to implant the device. This can’t go on.”

Eggsy tries to swallow around a suddenly dry mouth. “Are…are you sure?”

Harry nods. “Of course. I’ve been thinking about it a great deal, you know. There isn’t much else to do at home all day with only the dog to talk to. I want to remember my life and I don’t want you to have to spend whatever time I have left looking after me, or worrying about what I might do.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“Not yet. I’m not young, Eggsy, but if I’m lucky, I’m still rather a long way from death’s door. Do you really want to spend the next thirty years reminding me that I’m no longer 23?”

“If the alternative is having to spend those years with you in a coma instead, yeah, I do.”

Harry purses his lips. “This is for the best, and if the worst happens, you’ll be able to move on with your life.”

“Harry–”

“Please, Eggsy. I’ve made up my mind.”

Eggsy knows that there’s no persuading a determined Harry Hart. He could argue about it until he was blue in the face and still Harry would remain unmoved. And he’d promised himself that he would let Harry make this decision. So Eggsy inhales a shuddery breath and lets it go.

*****

The procedure is scheduled for a Thursday morning. Luckily, it’s one of Harry’s good days so there’s no need for a long-winded conversation about where they’re going and why.

They head into the mansion together and if Eggsy is less talkative than usual, neither of them mention it. It’s not that he feels he shouldn’t talk; it’s actually the opposite. These might be the last moments he ever has with a Harry who knows him and can talk back. But he doesn’t know what to say. He’s suddenly overwhelmed by all the big declarations he feels he should have made by now, like “I think I might have rotted into nothing if you hadn’t brought me into Kingsman”, and a deluge of tiny inconsequential things like, “I think I forgot to pack your toothpaste.” He can’t settle on one, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

They exit the bullet train and make their way to the medical wing. Harry has a loose but sure grip on his bag with one hand, but his other is free. Eggsy wishes for a moment that they were the kind of couple who held hands, because he could use a bit of comfort.

Merlin meets them at the door. “Good morning, Harry, Arthur.”

“Just Eggsy is fine today, Merlin. I’m off the clock.”

“That’s not necessary,” Harry says. “I’m sure you’re busy and I’ll be unconscious most of the day. There’s no need for you to sit around here doing nothing.”

Eggsy shoots him a glare. “You think I’m gonna be productive today just because I’m sitting in my office instead of your hospital room? Maybe they can plant some sense in that brain of yours while they’re putting that memory device in, huh?”

Harry sighs and tips his head in acknowledgement. “Very well. Shall we get to it?”

Merlin leads them into the room that will be Harry’s while he’s recovering. It’s exactly what you’d expect of a hospital room: sterile and impersonal. Maybe Eggsy can bring in some of Daisy’s artwork to brighten the place up, and there’s definitely room on that bedside table for a photo of him, Harry and Hamish.

Merlin hands Harry a hospital gown, says she’ll be back in fifteen minutes and then leaves.

There’s a rolling in Eggsy’s stomach and he swallows hard.

“I really love you, you know,” Eggsy says and realises it’s what everything he’d been thinking on the train boils down to. 

Harry looks up from where he’s unpacking his toiletries and meets his gaze with a smile. He’s clear-eyed, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I know. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Eggsy frowns. “Whaddya mean?”

“You say you love me, and I believe you, but I want to be the Harry you love all the time, not just on good days.”

The frown is deepening now so that Eggsy’s face is scrunching almost painfully. “You think I only love you on good days?”

“Of course not, only that the Harry you love only exists on good days. Every other day he’s lost to the mists of time.”

Eggsy takes a slow, deep breath. “Harry…you’re such a fucking idiot. I love you _every_ day. It don’t matter to me who or when you think you are. Harry is Harry is Harry is Harry. I love every version of you that has ever and will ever exist. Don’t go through with this because you think you need to do it for me. It’s not worth it.”

“Even if what you say is true–”

“It is!”

“–none of the other reasons have changed or gone away.”

“But this is insane! We’re talking about someone slicing into your brain and putting a gadget in it. Even if it does help you remember, what if it backfires? Do I need to remind you about Valentine and the exploding heads?”

“This sort of technology would benefit the whole organisation – if they try it on me and it works, they’ll be able to use it on other agents. This is bigger than just us.”

“It always is.” There’s so much bitterness in his voice he almost chokes on it.

“Of course it is. We are Kingsmen, Eggsy, and you are Arthur. We must all make sacrifices.”

“Not all sacrifices are equal.”

“You are being selfish.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

Merlin chooses that moment to open the door, but she stops on the threshold. Eggsy doesn’t blame her for not coming in; she might drown in the tension.

She glances between the two of them. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Harry says, looking away from Eggsy pointedly, “there’s no problem. I’ll just be a moment.”

He steps into the bathroom to change and Eggsy throws himself down into the visitor’s chair.

Merlin eyes him warily. “There’s no reason to automatically assume the worst. We’ll do everything we can to–”

“There are some things even you can’t control,” he says, “so don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She falls silent and a moment later Harry emerges wearing his hospital gown, his clothes folded neatly in his arms. He takes the time to set them on a shelf in the wardrobe and then eases himself into the bed. Merlin ushers the surgeon in and he goes over the procedure and all the risks involved step-by-step. Eggsy says nothing and Harry doesn’t look at him once.

They’re barely alone over the next hour. The surgeon disappears to prepare, but Merlin comes and goes, and nurses troop in and out with the anaesthesiologist and various machines and drips they have to set up and connect. Finally, with five minutes to go, they’re left in peace.

He knows better than to let Harry leave him with angry words between them – they did that once before and Harry went and got shot in the head and “died”. He has his pride but now is not the time for it so he stands and walks to Harry’s bedside. They’ve already given him something, so he’s a bit groggy, but still coherent.

Eggsy takes Harry’s hand – because if now isn’t the time, it never will be – and breathes a small sigh when Harry squeezes his fingers. “I’m sorry I said all those things before. I’m not angry at you. It’s just that I know what it’s like to live without you and you’ve already come back once and I feel like maybe our luck has already run out.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry to be doing this to you, but I do believe this is the right thing to do. I just want you to know that I’m so grateful for you and for everything you’ve done. I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. You are the light of my life.”

Eggsy sniffs and scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes. Before he can say anything else, Merlin returns with the nurses. Eggsy places a gentle kiss right in the middle of Harry’s forehead, just like his mum used to do when he was sick as a kid, and steps back. He feels small and lonely when they wheel Harry away.

*****

It takes hours. Eggsy sits in his visitor’s chair and waits in silence. Merlin brings him a sandwich and a bottle of water, but they’re left untouched on the table. She seems to know better than to wait with him so she leaves as quickly and quietly as she’d come.

He wishes Roxy and Merlin – old Merlin – were there. He likes the new agents and he’s proud to lead them, but there’s no one who knows him like Roxy did. She would have followed him into the fires of hell, no questions asked.

His one small comfort is that the worst hasn’t happened and Harry obviously isn’t dead – someone would surely have come to tell him if he were – and the more time that passes, the more convinced he is that Harry will at least be returned to him physically if not mentally. At this point, he’ll take whatever small victories he can.

He doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed when Merlin finally comes back into the room, but his back and arse are aching from how he’s been slouched in the world’s least comfortable chair.

“He made it through the surgery,” she says. “They’re bringing him back now.”

Eggsy clenches his fists on suddenly sweaty palms and tries to calm his ragged breathing. It wouldn’t do to have some kind of nervous breakdown _now_.

Of course Harry’s unconscious when he’s wheeled back into the room. There’s an enormous bandage wrapped around his head and dark circles under his eyes, but he’s breathing and, for now, that’s enough.

No one can tell Eggsy how long it will take for Harry to wake up – and no one wants to admit that he might not wake up at all – so he pulls his chair over to the side of the bed, grabs one of Harry’s hands and settles down to wait some more.

Over the next three days there are encouraging signs of brain activity, according to the doctors, but still no signs of consciousness. Eggsy has slept in fits and starts, either in the chair or on the mattress one of the nurses brought in for him. He hasn’t been to his office and the only reason he knows Kingsman hasn’t imploded is because Merlin has been running the ship and bringing him regular updates. He hopes she’s been sending him emails with everything written down, because everything she says goes in one ear, sticks around long enough for him to make some noise of acknowledgement and then floats immediately out the other.

Early on the fourth day, Harry makes a sound. It’s a sort of huffed sigh and it jolts Eggsy upright, because it’s nothing like the quiet, steady breaths of the last few days.

“Harry?” Eggsy’s voice is raspy from disuse.

There’s another huffed sigh and then a groan, and Eggsy has to force himself to breathe.

Harry’s eye opens slowly, like dry gears grinding together – none of that fluttery bullshit like in the movies. He blinks a few times, can’t seem to focus on anything.

“Harry?” Eggsy says again, small and quiet this time, like a child looking for comfort and trying not to cry.

That single eye slides across to him and for one heart-stopping moment it’s completely blank. Then the corner of Harry’s mouth twitches into an automatic smile.

“Hello, Eggsy.”

*****

Eggsy gets home from work and all the lights are on. He eases the front door closed and grins at the humming he can hear in the kitchen. He sets the Rainmaker in the stand beside the door, greets Hamish with a scratch behind the ears and loosens his tie as he enters the kitchen.

Harry is like a picture of domestic energy. There’s a bowl of tossed salad already on the table, a glass of wine and a bottle of beer on the edge of the kitchen island, and Harry’s pulling some fancy chicken dish out of the oven. Eggsy thinks it might be French but he’s not going to try and butcher the name Harry had uttered with ease that morning.

Eggsy had been surprised by the genuine pleasure Harry got from cooking but, as Harry had explained, he’d never hated it, he just hadn’t had much time to do it properly over the years. Now he had all the time in the world because, of course, he was officially retired from Kingsman.

There had been a lot of talk after Harry had woken up, about him taking back the mantle of Arthur. Eggsy would have happily handed it over and gone back into the field, but Harry hadn’t wanted it.

“I have done more than my fair share, Eggsy,” he’d said, propped up on pillows in his hospital bed. “I thought I would dedicate my life to it and die in the field. But I don’t want that anymore. I want to go home and do all the things I haven’t had time for. I want to read and paint and grow plants and cook and greet you with a glass of wine at the end of every day.”

And Eggsy nodded and said, “Okay, Harry.” He wanted Harry happy, and had found that, despite his initial misgivings, he didn’t mind being Arthur so much after all. They had all made sacrifices for Kingsman. Harry had sacrificed enough.

Now, Harry sets the pot down on the island and wipes his hands on his apron. “Good day?”

“Yeah. Bors almost blew up an embassy and Tristan foiled a smuggling ring. Just your average Tuesday. How ‘bout you? Good day?”

“Yes, Eggsy,” Harry says and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, you can reblog on [tumblr](http://andthenshesaid-write.tumblr.com/post/168747097639/deep-invisible-tracks-andthenshesaid-write).


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